Correct Predictions
by eltseth
Summary: It takes time to mourn those lost.


People wondered why George still referred to his own actions as being done by two. At first, it seemed like just a force of habit: screaming out a very enthusiastic 'We did it! We did it!' whenever he'd successfully invented something new in the back room of their (now his) famous shop. He'd always start a classic "I'm not George! I'm Fred!" joke with his mother but stopped before it was too late -or worse- her realising what he just said. As much as he loved his mother, another hour long session of sobbing wouldn't do any of them any good. He'd smack his hands right onto his mouth and proceed to exit, both flustered and flushed, out of the room.

Sometimes, he'd linger too long in front of a mirror while casually walking down the lanes of Diagon Alley. He'd stare blankly at his flipped reflection, and hurriedly scramble away at the feel of another passenger looking into the same display that he was.

Eating one of his mother's sandwiches in his shop at night, he'd occasionally stop mid-chew and jot down an idea, his eyes would somehow (but not surprisingly) settle down on the picture of Fred on the right side of his shabbier-than-before desk. He remembered how they'd both gotten their letters for Hogwarts at almost the same time. How confusing their sorting was: Professor McGonagall pointing out Fred -rather, attempting to-, to go up. How their particularly loud high-five they shared after George got sorted, being just under Fred in the alphabetical list, clapped across the Great Hall. How they'd shared a look of triumph when they found and discovered how to use the Marauder's Map. George found his ability to remember those things quite special, being in what, 1988? 89? 90, even?

Waking up from his trance, George realized he must have been in the shower for an unusually long time. In a blur, he'd exited, dried himself up and went to be to catch up on some blissful sleep.

But, of course, to no avail.

He remembered when he was in fourth year he'd convinced a first year Hufflepuff to buy a pendant that would squirt various colours of slime onto its owner whenever he'd touch the jewel: it was one of his favourite Zonko products. And how they'd teased Ron about sleeping with a 'fake spider' every night with intended gusto. Hell, they didn't know turning his teddy bear into a spider would cause _all that_, they felt horrible about it, they did! But hey- it was just another coin in the bank.

He glanced towards a particularly tattered watch. It was almost 1 AM.  
How time flies.

He turned around to face Angelia. Angie. His Angie. She'd went with Fred to the Yule ball in their 6th year. Or was it 7th year? No- that was the year they dropped out. The year they set up the portable swamp. He remembered running into Flitwick and having a little chat in which he kept going on about how his First years were always blown away by the little portion he kept.

Angelina shuffled a bit. Her breath remained even, nonetheless.

He looked at her face. She was absolutely beautiful. A little smile adorned his face, pushing his cheeks up. His eyes drifted to her hand. Her left hand. On her ring finger sat their wedding ring. It was the same one he and Fred had seen strolling about Diagon Alley in their school years. Fred talked about buying a ring just like it for his future wife. When George was planning the proposal, he had hunted down the same ring in the now-abandoned shop. For some reason, he didn't really plan on telling Angelina about that.

Angelina. Angelina Weasley.

She'd just told him about how she thought she might be pregnant. He'd always joked with Fred about having identical kids. His breath hitched a bit when he tried to suppress a laugh.

Angelina blinked, sensing movement. After a few moments of silence, she straightened up and looked into George's eyes. She did not hesitate or waver.

"It's happening again, isn't it?"

George did not answer verbally. Instead, solemnly, he nodded. Angelina moved closer to him, nudging him as well into a more comfortable seating position. He placed his head on her chest, listening to her quickening heartbeat with hear hand stroking his hair and barely audible soothing and loving nothings reaching his ear. His hair may have been a bit wet from the shower still but she did not seem to mind.

His eyes started to feel like a burden to keep open and they started to droop downwards. With another thought of Fred escaping his mind, he drifted asleep. But just before he did, he had wrapped his arms tightly around Angelina. He was rubbing her hand on her small stomach.  
"Thank you," he muttered silently into her chest.

"It's nothing, love."

She wasn't sure he'd heard her but she still said it. She kissed his forehead lightly and avoided sleep for a glance at her ring. It was the ring Fred had joked about her wearing in the future. She cupped George's cheeks lightly, lovably, affectionately.

It seems like he was correct.


End file.
